Lilies of the Valley
by DarkBloodyCrow
Summary: Meet Bilbo Baggins; German bourgeois who owns some lands and makes his living out of them. His life is calm, but to live in Germany in 1939 ensures little peacefulness. Enter Gandalf, an old acquaintance of Bilbo's who will bring havoc into his life when he requests he hides a group of Jews for the time being.


**I. Tiger Lilies, Flax & Forsythia**

Every day began in the same old fashion. Wake up with the sun, tidy up, and prepare the first meal for the day. Breakfast was of course one of the most important meals of the day, and leave Bilbo Baggins to see that his morning ritual was respected completely, in honor of her late mother, Belladonna Took, who was the one to instill all the little oddities of the day-to-day life into his only son. It was, however, his father's work, Bungo Baggins's, to ensure that little Bilbo would grow into a respectable Baggins by teaching him the values of following a strict everyday schedule. Wake up early in the morning, make sure the lands were being worked on and that the laborers were in good conditions and high spirits (there was no better land owner-employee relationship than the one in which both sides were happy with their work), and never, under no circumstances, be late for any meal.

The issue with food was something both of his parents had pressed into his education with care and stubbornness. It would seem that their not-so-bourgeois like past, when food was scarce and hunger became an everyday issue, had made them wary of their only son's nourishment. After all, two young foreigners that had fled from their country carrying little more than a few coins in their pockets and the hope for their love to be allowed here where their families couldn't meddle were to expect nothing but difficulties in their path. Yet they persisted with their youthful stubbornness, and with years of dedication and hard work, not forgetting to please the right acquaintances, the young couple was able to save enough to start their humble, cozy life in a smaller village.

The Shire, located at the south of Germany and quite close to Lake Constance, was the place both of them were happy to call their homeland, leaving back their past lives and becoming German citizens to the eyes of their new neighbors after their marriage. It was not after some other ten years that the family was able to afford Bag End, a big cottage at the outskirts of the village, with a piece of land that was not far away from it and that was soon put to use as harvestable territory. From here on, the Baggins family was able to live a comfortable and quite wealthy life, even with the inclusion of a new little member that went by the name of Bilbo on an unusually sunny and warm 22nd of September, in 1907.

They frequently gave their thanks to whatever deity was looking after them throughout the difficult times that both Belladonna and Bungo had to fight through until they were able to position themselves as part of the middle class. It was true that during the end of the XIX century Germany was undergoing a great socio-economic growth, however success was not guaranteed, especially not for foreign youngsters.

Thirteen year old Belladonna didn't even look like a grown up lady, what with her child-like and carefree demeanor, accompanied with her petite and cheerful appearance and longing for adventures, which made it difficult to find a "paid job". Bungo, on the other hand, had the luck to have a more stoic and sober appearance which granted him the ability to hide his young fifteen's, and through the first years of their arrival to Germany, he managed to maintain himself and his beloved _sunshine_.

Twenty-one years later little Bilbo came into their lives, and nothing could have made them happier. With the fair bright curls and the smile of his mother combined with the intense hazel sight of his father, the baby boy was born healthy and plump. He was quite bright minded too, enjoying as many books as his free time and his parents' collection (which was not small by the time they had acquired Bag End) allowed him. However, despite all of the attentiveness he gave to Bungo when the man lectured him about the importance of modals, scholarship and of maintaining a respectable life, the little one still strived for adventures just as much as his mother had in her youth, to his father's dismay. He'd frequently scold Bilbo for coming home late for supper, with dirtied clothes, little bruises and torn pants at the knees. Belladonna would of course pretend to be angry with his kid, but when his father turned away, she'd giggle just as much as her son and ask him about the little mischiefs he had been doing during the evening. It usually was about the strange noble family that lived not too far away from The Shire, and that Bilbo usually described as fairy-like and others times he was completely serious about calling them elves.

Unfortunately, the good times did not last for long. In 1914, when the kid had not yet turned 7, the male German population was found forced into an undesired war, and to the Baggins' dismay, Bungo was no exception. Belladonna had tried to reason many times that his husband, forty-one years of age at the time, was already too old for such a demanding thing like a war. When that did not work, she tried to hide him from the calling, but even Bungo had already accepted his fate as a soldier for the country he had chosen as his homeland. No pleas or tears were enough to stop the old bourgeois from attending to his war-duties, and when Bilbo thinks back to the day he saw his gentle and chubby father crying with her stubbornly brave mother at the front door of Bag End, he becomes painfully aware that moment was when his childhood spiraled out and away from his life.

While walking out of the main room on the second floor and heading for the kitchen, the short man found himself involuntarily stopping in front of his father's portray, a small painting standing on top of a bureau. Unlike cheerful Belladonna, Bungo always carried a sober expression when in the presence of people not close to him. It was not that the man found it difficult to deal with people or that he was not a pleasing company, but no one could deny that war had damaged him, not only physically but mentally just as much, if not more. If during Bilbo's childhood the Baggins frequently celebrated big parties on the territory of Bag End in which the whole Shire was invited, after the Great War such things only reminded in memory. Yes, the aftermath of four years of constant battles was the main reason for the somber atmosphere that had conquered the whole country, even the bright Shire, but the old bourgeois, now past-soldier, did nothing to amend this, even when it was precisely the Baggins family the one that maintained alive The Shire with food supplies when there was a shortage of it and employment when the post-war situation had pushed numerous families into poverty. They were respected for all the good that they had brought to the small village, and so no one said anything when old Bungo was seen increasingly less and less out of his cottage.

Belladonna's portray, to the left of Bungo's, showed her big and tender smile and her rosy cheeks as a display of her constant joy. Her cheerfulness had however, as Bilbo remembered, subsided the instant that the _new_ Bungo returned. The chubby man that had left for war four years before became a skinny mass of past bruises and pale, thin skin that hinted the close presence of bones in some parts of his body. Worst of it all had been his left leg, which had received a bullet wound that had left the old man in the constant need for a cane.

After hours of crying for the misfortunes that Mr. Baggins had had to suffer, the family still gave their thanks to whatever deity was protecting them and that had ensured Bungo's return after finishing his duty with the country.

Bilbo, on the other hand, during the period of his father's absence, had started aiding his mother with the daily life of their "manor", the care for their harvesting lands and the men and women that worked on them. The lad had soon learnt about the crops that the family grew for selling and about those that were grown for the Shire and Bag End, and in more than one occasion, especially when he saw other kids of his own age working in the fields, he'd help out with as much as he could, and being Bungo gone, no one had stopped him from coming home late and muddied. The young boy would also help his mother with the little garden that the family had on Bag End's territory. It was not a big chunk of land, nothing to be compared with the place where the laborers worked, but its privilege was found in the big diversity of plants that Belladonna fancied growing. She was especially keen on growing all sorts of flowers and different varieties of crops that didn't do well for selling and were not of basic need.

Skipping two stairs at a time, Bilbo reached the first floor and just when he was about to finally enter the kitchen, he caught sight of the back door at the end of the corridor that lead to their little garden, and an urge tugged him towards it. He didn't want to call it _his_, he didn't like the feeling of loneliness that the concept brought. The man preferred to remember it as the result of the hard work of his parents, and thus belonging to them, not to him as a result of their loss. Bilbo would occasionally call it by the affectionate name of _Bag Hill_ too, a name that was given to the garden by Belladonna as a result of abbreviating "Bag End's little Hill".

When the bourgeois opened the door, a fragrant scent of flowers invaded his nostrils, and the good memories of her mother tending to Bag Hill in the early mornings of Sundays flooded his mind. He turned his sight to Belladonna's favorite blossom corner, where beautiful little white flowers grew in an almost completely natural form. Lilies-of-the-Valley, his mother once told him, carried the meaning of "the return to happiness", and the old lady often cut some stems of the plant to put the flowers in a vase that decorated the hall, in hopes that their good omen would bring Bungo back from war, unscratched and unchanged. The day before the father's arrival, however, the previously placed lilies had withered and not been replaced on time.

Unconsciously, while thinking about the past, Bilbo had reached for the flowers and stroked the little buds with gentleness, fighting the urge to take some back into the hall's vase again. What for? After all, it was not like he believed in the odd superstitions that her mother had taught him during his youth. Besides, what happiness did he desire to return? It was not like he could bring back his parents, or erase the tragedies of the war and post-war period. Had he been twenty years younger and not seen his father die from influenza two years after the Great War, he might have been foolish enough to thrive for the return for whatever happiness he unconsciously was wishing for, but Bilbo knew that he was no longer the adventurous kid he once was. His Took spirit had withered like the lilies of the entrance hall.

It was a painful sight to observe how the same thing had happened to his mother after the death of her husband. Belladonna surely had tried hard to hide his sadness and melancholy, and she might have fooled those who did not know her well, but Bilbo had been a perceptive young boy, and he knew his mother's true smile, which he did not see again until two years ago, on her deathbed. It had saddened him to understand that he, as Belladonna's only son, had not been enough to maintain her mother's real happiness throughout the years, but on the other hand, he could understand, not through real life experience though, that the loss of a true love was a very painful wound, and if "true love" really existed, that would be Bungo and Belladonna's life stroy.

Despite every forced refusal to take some of the lilies inside, the urge still tugged him, and resigned, he went to fetch a little knife and gardening gloves inside the garden's old shed, cut three long stems full of blossoming flowers, tidied the mess he had made, and went back inside. He actually stood for thirty long seconds in front of the hall's vase, mentally cursing himself for his "emotional stupidity", but had finally taken it with him to the kitchen to fill it with water, convincing himself that the flowers were in honor of his deceased mother, as she was the one that loved them the most.

Finishing with his "strange urges", as he called them, Bilbo noticed that he was already running late with the preparations for breakfast, and he was getting even more delayed for his revision of the laborer's conditions. He went a bit in a hurry into the pantry and found to his dismay that he had run out of cheese. The bourgeois stared at the sadly looking chunk, and reluctantly took some loafs of bread, butter, strawberry marmalade, three eggs, milk and blueberry juice, and headed back to the kitchen. The man had quickly boiled the eggs and spread the butter and the jam over the loaves of bread, and while he waited for his milk to boil, emptied a glass of his homemade juice. Eating the rest in haste, Bilbo tidied everything, as per usual (a habit instilled by his father), and headed outside through the main door. Not three steps out of the cottage, the man found himself turning back and opening again the big circular green entrance to go and fetch the strawberries he had forgotten to take with him as a gift to the workers he was going to pay a visit.

The outskirts of The Shire were one of the most beautiful sights that Bilbo could think of. Not that he had seen a lot more of the world, but he was certain that there couldn't be a place which could hold a bigger beauty than the blossoming hills of the little and cozy village the man considered his homeland. Chunks of green grass could be seen among patches of colorful buds growing along the path towards Baggins' farming land, and Bilbo felt that should he lie in the soft looking green mattress, he'd certainly fall asleep under the sunrays of a bright Monday morning of mid-August.

After about ten minutes of walking, the short man reached the harvestable site where about ten men and women were already immersed in their labor. With a cheerful demeanor, Bilbo reached the group and exchanged some greetings and pleasantries, and gave them the basket with strawberries he had brought form Bag End for their elevenses.

"Remember, don't over-exhaust yourselves! If you feel ill, do please let me know about it. I'll be on the market during the morning, but you can find me in Bag End the rest of the day." Bilbo announced with a smile on his face, but maintaining a serious tone to make sure everyone heard him and understood the importance of his words.

"Alright boy, alright." That was Dimple Ackermann, an old man close to his sixties that surprised the whole Shire every day with his strong spirit and incredibly healthy state. He was able to work on the fields far longer than Bilbo and had never been ill, not even after his return from the war. The only aspect about the man that unnerved the bourgeois was his constant insistence in calling Bilbo _boy_ or _lad_, when he was to become thirty-two the following fall "And thank you for the strawberries, lad, yours are the sweetest of all the Shire. You should really think about selling them too."

"Well, thank _you_ for the kind words, but these take an immense effort to grow, and I wouldn't like to put any more pressure on you. Your work load is big enough as it is." Bilbo said with a kind smile on his face while regarding the old man with respect. "Oh, and Dimple? I was thinking that, what with me turning thirty-two in about a month, maybe you could stop calling me by–"

"Ah, boy! Almost forgot to warn you," the old farmer said while turning back to Bilbo and giving the basket to another worker that carried it away to where the rest of the laborers would eat later, "some military force's going to arrive to The Shire during the following week or so. Thought you might want to know about it."

The fair-haired man needed a few seconds to process what he had heard to really understand what had been said. "What?" Wincing at the lack of decorum in his response, Bilbo quickly corrected himself "I mean, what purpose would they have in The Shire?"

" 'm not quite sure, heard it had something to do with the Jew scum."

Bilbo winced again. It was not like he was a hater of the nation's political ways, or that he was thinking about becoming a rebel to the leadership of the _Fuhrer_, he just stayed on neutral ground, performing his obligations as a German citizen and acting accordingly to his respectable bourgeois life. If he sometimes had to pretend to be a head-over-heels patriot and judge other kin to ensure his humble, cozy and _respectable_ (most important aspect of their family "heirloom") life, then so be it. It was not like he was an actual _xenophobe_, though he did dislike the use of excessively insulting words when referring to the mistreated races. It simply felt wrong to be so hard on someone you hadn't had the privilege to meet.

"Ah… Dimple, I'm sure there are other more appropriate adjectives to describe their kin. Ones that wouldn't make your parents wince if they had heard you."

To Bilbo's dismay, his words only achieved to incite the old man's loud, booming laugh, "Ah, young Bilbo and his bourgeois modals. Take care, lad, there are not many kind-hearted boys left in here. And who knows how many would be left in the future."

The short man had once again given up in changing Dimple's habit of calling him a "lad", and went back to his duties. Walking in a quick pace towards the village's market, Bilbo started doing mental annotations of what replenishments needed the pantry. Cheese, that was for sure. He was also running short of meat, and it had been some long weeks since he had eaten fish, so those two were added to the list too. Fruits and almost all vegetables were provided by Bag Hill and the farming lands, so there was no particular need of those at the moment, though he remembered clearly that there was a shortage of something else in the pantry that he couldn't quite remember…

"Oh, Master Baggins! It's being quite a nice morning today, don't you think?"

Turning to his left, Bilbo saw that the young kid from the Bayer family, who sold different wooden crafts in The Shire, was smiling widely towards him. The young girl, Bilbo remembered she had recently turned 15, was a responsible infant that helped her family as much as it was needed, and that was an aspect about the kid that Bilbo particularly admired in everyone who was younger than himself. Old Baggins' habits.

"Quite nice indeed. Are you doing well today, Dora?"

"Yes! Yes, I've been feeling better recently. The medicinal herbs that you had arranged for my family have proven very effective. I'm whole heartedly grateful for your help, Master Baggins."

"No need to thank me, little one," the man answered with a warm smile, happy to hear that the kid had improved from the fever she had caught last week, "those were Belladonna's work, we should all thank her for the dedication she had for the harvest of quite diverse plants, they come in handy. Do take care though; you still have a bit of rosy color around the cheeks."

"Y-yes, will do, Master Baggins."

"Pass on my regards to your parents, Dora, and have a nice rest of the day!"

After the brief encounter, Bilbo continued thinking about the products that he had still to buy, remembering sorely that he had forgotten to even take a cart with himself to carry everything back to the cottage. And eggs! That's what was running out in the pantry.

"Oh, Bilbo dear, you seem a bit gloomy for such a bright day, is something the matter"

Bramblerose Fuhrmann, née Ackermann, a woman a few years older than Bilbo and daughter to Dimple Ackermann that worked in the post for meats, had been an acquaintance of his since his childhood, and the object of Belladonna's teasing whenever romances were the topic of Bilbo's and Belladonna's chats. It was not like he had showed any particular interest in the woman. She was well mannered and cheerful, yes, but so were many others in The Shire. Besides, Bilbo had never really felt the urge to be especially close to any women. It might have saddened him during his youth not to have loved or be loved, but a bachelor life didn't seem such a bad thing for the bourgeois now.

"Just a bit dismayed, Bramblerose. There is too much I was supposed to purchase today, and unfortunately I have forgotten to bring with me any kind of means of transport."

"Well, that can be solved." The woman answered happily before turning away and going inside the post. "Dear! Sweetheart! Come here for a second!"

Mr. Fuhrmann was a man closer to the age of his father that to Bilbo's or Bramblerose's, heavily built and with a kind smile for everyone that knew how to treat him well. Being a war veteran that had volunteered for the Great War, Pronto Fuhrmann inspired a great respect in all the kids of The Shire, which was a good thing on one side from Bilbo's opinion, as he instilled a respectable attitude into the younger ones, but on the other side, the man was one of the most loyal followers of the ways of the Fuhrer in the village, and a hard-headed anti-Semitic to top it all. Not like his dark hair and brownish skin and eyes gave him much of an Aryan race appearance though.

"What is it, love? Oh, Mister Baggins, anything we can assist you with?"

"Actually, my dear, Bilbo here is going to need a ride in your cart. Well, not him, more like the products."

"Oh, no, really, I wouldn't like to impose on you in such a–"

"I'm out of time at the moment, but could ride it to Bag End this evening, would that be alright Mister Baggins?"

"Oh, well, most certainly, but there is no real need–"

"No need for that, Baggins!" the man said while backslapping Bilbo across the meat post with enough force to make the younger man choke on his words. "Your father had saved my life in the battle more than once, what would be of me if I can't assist his son in such a stupid thing as carrying his things? Especially when you're sure to buy from me! So, what would it be?"

Seeing as arguing was going to lead him nowhere, Bilbo accepted the help the Fuhrmann family offered him with no more discussion, except when Fuhrmann's wife had offered to fetch the rest of the products he was in need of, but arguing about that had proven fruitless too.

"Don't bother Bilbo, you know both I and my husband own your family a great deal, and your mother loss is probably coming difficult still for you, so please, let us aid you whenever we can."

It wasn't as if he disliked the lovable attitude of his village towards him, but sometimes Bilbo thought that they were all just overly too much, and it always had to do with Bungo and Belladona. Being treated so kindly on the behalf of his parents made him feel uncomfortable and a bit useless.

"And Bilbo, before I forget about it; it would seem someone was asking for you earlier today."

"For me?" _Well, that is strange_, thought the man a bit surprised by the news, _today is proving to be quite eventful_. "Did they state the business they had to do with me?"

"Just answered cryptically and turned away," Pronto answered with a badly hidden scowl on his face, "didn't like the man's appearance. Didn't look to me all that German." _Oh, that's why Fuhrmann seems so upset._ "Be careful, Baggins, he was asking around if you still lived in Bag End."

"Oh, stop it, Pronto. Bilbo has never left The Shire, do you really think he'd have unsavory acquaintances?"

"Haven't said I thought him to be Baggins' friend. You know these Christ-killers, they have their secret means to obtain information, and god forbid I let them target Bungo's son. Thank God some military force would be placed in this village soon enough, else we'd have found ourselves surrounded by that scum in no time at all. Soldiers know how to eradicate pests."

Not willing to hear more pejorative chats, Bilbo thanked the Fuhrmann's again, and walked back home, reaching Bag End not too late for his second breakfast.

He spent the rest of the morning taking care of the garden and completing other chores around the house, all the while thinking back to the strange man that had supposedly been asking for him. It was already strange to find someone not from The Shire roaming around the village, but for them to be directly foreigners, well, to say that it had never happened before Bungo and Belladonna would not be an exaggeration, and the villagers have always thought them to be just from the north of Germany, not from England. So who was this stranger that on top of everything else was asking whether Bilbo still lived in Bag End or not? Whoever knew Bilbo would not ask such a question. Where was he to go if he left Bag End? England had never been an option. He had never been in that country, never met any of the family that lived so far away and had never considered actually visiting any of them. In the past he was happy to spend the rest of his life with just his parents and the friends he had in The Shire. Now, with the political tension spreading through Europe, the mere thought of traveling to the islands was frowned upon.

The middle-aged bourgeois had ended pacing in the hall without even realizing it. After finishing his daily chores he was left aimless in the afternoon and dangerous thoughts started to cross his mind. What if that man was actually…? _No, impossible_. Through the haste of his inner rambling, the man had ended back in front of the vase where the lilies were. When Bilbo had actually noticed this, he let go of a deep sight and stared at the white lilies. Carefully, he caressed some of the buds with the fingertips of his right hand and observed them with resignation, but with a loving smile in his lips as memories of his mother flooded his mind.

Strange, the flowers were looking odd. It would seem that their color, instead of appearing a bit withered, had brightened up somehow. Surprised by the strange phenomenon, Bilbo lent in a bit closer to the buds to inspect them with more care. Just when he was inches apart from the lilies, some of the closed buds bloomed straight in front of his face, and the man could not stop his mouth from dropping.

However, the man did not have enough time to pay the strange event any mind as someone nocked on the front door. Cursing lightly, and then scolding himself for doing so, Bilbo went to get the door. Who could it be at this time of the day? It was a bit early for Fuhrmann to come by with the errand, but some land-worker might have come to Bag End in search for Bilbo's assistance.

"I'm very sorry for delaying myself, mister," the bourgeois answered with a very polite voice before looking up at the man that was standing in front of his entrance, "in what may I assist you?"

"Well, I'm pleased to hear you ask directly, Bilbo Baggins." Answered a raspy old voice that Bilbo didn't recognize immediately. That was when he look up, alarmed, at the man that he had opened the door for.

He was tall, very tall, and all his hair had already grayed out and was combed back into a low and accurate pony-tail, while on top of his head he carried an elegant black top hat. His beard, as grey as his hair, was nicely trimmed, and his face and demeanor carried a sort of ominously ageless aura. His clothes seemed just as elegant as the man itself; black and grey formal suit, elegantly polished shoes and a black raincoat that reached under his knees.

It was entirely all too much clothes. Bilbo was wearing only a loose white shirt, his earthy brown trousers and a pair of light shoes, and already he was feeling the heat of the day.

This man was definitely the one that Mr. Fuhrmann was referring to. And God, did he give bad vibes with his appearance. Surely there were other elegant attires that could allow the man pass through the village without attracting all the attention he has already called for himself. But the old man's issues were not what Bilbo was worrying about, or at least not directly. What was worrying the middle-aged male was that _this_ strange fellow was actually looking for _him_, ordinary and respectable Bilbo Baggins. The situation could only turn out bad for him and his much appreciated respectfulness.

"I'm very sorry to ask you this but, have we met before?"

"Oh Bilbo, and here I thought you remembered me. Do you offer your help to any stranger that knocks at your door?"

Slightly pissed by the man's words, Bilbo tried to keep up his politeness. "Well, it is a well-known truth that strangers do not tend to knock on my door, sir."

"True it is, because I am no stranger to you, Bilbo."

The bourgeois felt the nagging of an incoming headache form all the riddle-like answers that the strange man was giving him. Bilbo was about to cast him away when realization hit him.

"Wait, Gandalf? Is it you?" the younger man asked with a disbelieving smile on his face, baffled to find himself in front of one of Belladonna's best friends again.

With an all too now familiar smile, the old man answered calmly, "I am glad you remembered me, dear Bilbo, I was starting to fear that you had been too young when we first met."

"Well, I- I still remember your fireworks," answered Bilbo, not caring for eloquence at the moment, and finding it altogether very difficult to express all the feelings that were surging through him. He was so happy to meet again with the charming old man that had entertained him so many times back when he was just a little kid, not even five years of age. On the other hand, worry held him back from showing all the happiness he felt. What would happen if somebody saw the respectable Baggins hanging around with a _possible enemy_? The USSR was an ally only by interests, and everyone, even the dumbest, knew that their alliance with Germany could fall apart in any given moment. A bit nervously, Bilbo pressed on. "God, Gandalf, it has been so long! But please, do not stand there outside, come in."

Saying his thanks, the Russian entered Bag End, and Bilbo, looking out for any eavesdropper, quickly closed his door and went in too.

To his surprise, the man had stopped right in front of the vase with the flowers that was in the hall, observing the bloomed ones with a quizzical sight.

"Lilies-of-the-valley, interesting."

"Ah, yes, Belladonna loved them with an especial interest. I must say they look quite lovely here in the hall."

"Indeed, they brighten up gloomy environments with the promise of 'the return of happiness'." The old man had said while looking at Bilbo with a cryptically arched smile on his face.

"Yes, well, it is quite true that Belladonna enjoyed playing with flower language. I must say the interest did not pass on to me."

"That is quite a shame." Gandalf kept on observing the lilies as if trying to read something, to get some strange information out of them that Bilbo could not understand.

The silence that was placed in the room was too uncomfortable for the young Baggins. He did enjoy silence sometimes, but when millions of questions were passing through his mind and none was able to be voiced, it only made him more nervous around Gandalf.

"Bilbo, there is a reason why I have traveled all the way to The Shire to see you, and there is no gentle way around it, so excuse me if I decide to be direct with you."

"No, please be, I must admit I was wondering what brought you here, and I am sincerely not too pleased to beat around the bush when it comes to important issues. After all, whatever has brought you here from your homeland must be very important."

Though nothing displeased more the middle-aged bourgeois than to be dragged into unsavory, possibly international, problems. He was only accepting to hear Gandalf on behalf of his mother.

"Very well then Bilbo. I find myself in the need of asking you for a favor of such greatness that, in other circumstances, I'd never think to request from you. But our times are growing restless, and lives are being put at stake, and I know of no one to be best fit for this than Belladonna's son."

The mention of Belladonna made the fair-haired man wince slightly. It was always about his parents, always about the greatness of their memory. Bilbo did not blame the rest of the world, he knew that both Belladonna and Bungo had been outstanding people, and that there was little one could do to surpass their brilliance and memory. That was not what annoyed the young Baggins. No, what annoyed Bilbo the most was that everyone thought it was alright to use their memory to maneuver the Baggins' son as they pleased, without the slightest regard towards how that affected him.

With a sigh, Bilbo interrupted the too long speech he was being forced to listen to, but that he didn't have the patience to endure, "Gandalf, I thought you said you'd make it brief. What business brings you to The Shire?"

"I came to share an adventure with you, Bilbo."

"Adventures? Oh, no thank you very much. We Baggins are a respectful lot that do not wish for excitements a part from our daily routines. Finding our pantries lacking some products and having to go to the market at an unusual date would be the only _adventure_ I'd willingly accept."

"Well, that is not how I remembered Belladonna's son to be, if I may so myself."

There, Belladonna again. Why did everyone have to mention his parents? It was hard enough to live through their loss without the rest of the world reminding him of it.

Still, the thought of his mother being upset at him for not listening to her good friend Gandalf made him maintain his composure and press on with the chat. "State your business Gandalf. Cease with the riddles."

Placing his hands before his back and straightening himself, Gandalf looked sternly towards Bilbo, and made clear his demand; "I need you to hide some Jews for a short period of time."

_What._

"It would only be until I can find a secure way out of the country for them. I hope you are aware of the atrocities that are done to those of their kin that are arrested by national extremists who follow the words of Adolf Hitler. Something must be done to prevent more tragedies. These men that I am guarding need your help, Bilbo. It is of utmost importance that you assist them... are you quite alright there, Bilbo? You look a bit pale."

Words evaded Bilbo's consciousness, and he felt, not for the first time during the day, a bit out of breath, "What?"

"Oh, for the love of-, Bilbo, I need you focused right now, we cannot waste more time, it is already running out for us."

Reacting badly towards being pressured, a habit he had gathered from her mother, Bilbo came back to his senses with a slowly building up rage "Well, I hope that you have anticipated the need for a few minutes where I sit down and try not to pass out, because I _am_ in need of those." The bourgeois finished while walking out of the hall and into the sitting room, where he plunged himself in a comfortable armchair, before standing up again and going to fetch his pipe with _Old Toby_. He offered Gandalf one, but the gentleman had politely refused and waited for Bilbo to collect his wits. After a few puffs and some smoke rings disappearing against the celling of the room, Bilbo was ready to keep on with the conversation.

"I just-, why me?"

"As I said before, I think no one would be better fit than Belladona's–"

"Yes, yes, I know how that game goes. You mention my late mother and expect me to go and play along with you for the sake of her memory. You are not the first one to try that, Gandalf, and I am sorely disappointed with you for approaching me like that."

"You have obviously misunderstood my point then, and belittled yourself, Bilbo."

"Oh, that's fresh." The short man answered with a spiteful giggle, taking some more puffs from his pipe and relaxing against his armchair, while the reminiscing smell of the _Old Toby_ reached his nostrils. "Do inform me then of what I have misunderstood."

"It is not Belladonna who I am asking a favor, dear Bilbo. I came here for you, and no one else."

Those words hit directly in the spot with accurate precision, and Bilbo's attention snapped from his pipe to the man that was standing firm across the room, next to the entrance to the corridor connecting with the rest of the rooms of the first floor.

"It is true that some of your virtues come as a result of Belladonna's influence on you, and of Bungo's strict morals and education too," continued the old man while admiring the decoration of the sitting room, and then suddenly turning towards the younger man, "but you are your own self, Bilbo, and that is why I came in searching for your help. You are the man that can save the lives I'm seeing myself unable to protect any longer."

"And what is a simple man like me able to do to protect other men that someone extraordinary like you cannot?"

"You are underestimating yourself again, Bilbo. It is your natural Took courage and your sensible Baggins side that would ensure this quest's success."

"All this-, all of what you are telling me makes no sense, Gandalf," Bilbo continued speaking with worry in his voice, loosing part of his composed Baggins' attitude and almost forgetting completely about his pipe. "I cannot understand what I can do to protect these people as you ask of me. The Shire is not a safe place for their kin."

"On the contrary, Bilbo; The Shire is the safest place for them. Now more than ever."

"I guess that you have not been informed then, Gandalf," Bilbo continued speaking with a disbelieving look in his face and a light indignant puff in his cheeks, "a troop has been sent to The Shire, and they are due to arrive next week. It is the Fuhrer's army, Gandalf; they are coming here to exterminate anything non-German. How am I supposed to protect a group of men from that?"

"I shall suppose that you are not well informed then, my friend, if you consider that the troop that is heading to this village would be a real burden to you. No, dear Bilbo. You should have seen what is happening in the big cities of Germany. Streets are swarmed up with military and no one is safe from their scrutiny, not even respectable citizens with an Aryan-race appearance. The small villages like The Sire are far safer, but Hitler's fanaticism is stronger in these places, and that's why military presence is not a priority. That's when you come into the picture, Bilbo."

"How would you know that I wasn't a strong follower of the Fuhrer? You came all the way here, certain that The Shire would be full of anti-Semitic folk, and yet believed me not to be like the rest, how so?"

"Because, my friend, I have come to ask _you_ for help. I have known you since you were not higher than this," Gandalf said with a little grin in his face while placing his palm at the height of his knee, "and I have always been sure that you would grow up to become a fine, respectable and _courageous_ young man. My expectations have not been misled. If not, you wouldn't have even let me enter Bag End. I am aware my looks are not quite of a _respectable_ man around here."

"No, you do look respectable, Gandalf. Just not… Aryan race."

The old man chuckled with a mischievous glint in his eyes, but reminded silent for a while, observing the changes in Bilbo's face. The bourgeois remembered that his pipe was still lit, and took some more poofs to relax his nerves. What Gandalf was asking him to do was beyond anything he could do. He was certain he would not accept it (he did not wish to risk all that was dear to him as a respectable citizen, all that his parents have worked so hard to obtain and that he treasured dearly), and yet there remained an odd nagging that pulled him forwards, that was pleading him for _an adventure_. Strange. That was too much of a Took instinct.

"Does that mean you accept the challenge?"

"I am sorry Gandalf," the middle-aged man answered, standing up to empty the remains of _Old Toby_ in his pipe and remained hovering awkwardly over the back of his armchair, "I am really sorry. But this is too much for me."

The old man regarded Bilbo with a glint of surprise, but it lasted for brief seconds before a mask of thoughtful consideration spread through Gandalf's face.

"You must understand it, I cannot risk _this_," said the middle-aged man while he spread his arms and looked around, making clear that he was referring to Bag End, "_this_ is all my parents have left as a memory of their existence, and I must protect it above anything else. I loved them dearly, Gandalf. I cannot disrespect their memory by risking what they spent their whole lives working on for the sake of some strangers."

"Do you mean to say that this," Gandalf spread his arms in a mockery-imitation of the younger's man recent gesture, "this material, cold, _perishing_ bricks is all that Belladonna and Bungo had ever wished for, instead of you?"

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but immediately felt that words evaded him, and closed it back again. Seeing as he had left the young Baggins speechless, Gandalf's grin spread out.

"Not Belladonna, nor Bungo, had raised you to protect something as unimportant as Bag End. Buildings do not feel, do not remember, and definitely do not _love_. Bilbo, your parents have procured you Bag End to ensure their only son's wellbeing. It is _you_ who matters."

"Taking your words as truth, should I throw my life away and risk being caught hiding a group of Jews in my home then? Is that how I am supposed to honor my parents?"

"No, of course not, Bilbo. You could try honoring your parents by showing them that the kid they raised has grown up to be a courageous man, willing to stand on his own two feet and refuse to allow any more injustice to happen in your own homeland. You could prove that Belladonna has raised you properly, and that Bungo has thought you the right way to live. You could be the living memory of the greatness of your parents, but that is entirely up to you."

The bourgeois felt his feet trembling under the weight of his tired body, and he felt the need to sit back down on his favorite armchair. His senses had become slightly numb, not just because of the speech he had just heard coming out of Gandalf (a man who he involuntarily respected deeply and considered full of wisdom), but because he was starting to see the proposition with another light. If his parents were alive, would they be willing to help Gandalf, or would they be terrified like Bilbo?

No, not terrified. Belladonna was a Took, she had never been afraid of enduring what life had stored up for her, not even when her husband lied ill in his deathbed, drained by the influenza. Sad? Certainly, but not afraid, never afraid.

And what to say about good Bungo? Gentle Bungo, who had never held a gun in his tiny hands, had gone to the Great War because it had been _his duty_ to his homeland, because he felt the need to protect what was dear to him. And Bilbo? What has Bilbo done to make them justice?

He woke up early in the mornings, had eaten at the common hours and taken care of himself. He had taken care of the workers and of the people of The Shire too, yes, but was that really enough? Was that enough to honor every effort that his parents had given to raise him properly?

The short man murmured his answer lightly, in such a low tone that Gandalf had to come closer and ask him to repeat what he had just said because he had been unable to hear him out.

"I said that-, that alright," repeated Bilbo, looking up from his shoes to face the older man who was now standing in front of him, "I will do it. I will protect your men, or try to, if anything, as much as I would be able to."

Smiling warmly, Gandalf pated lightly Bilbo's back while his smile spread onwards. "You've made the right decision, Bilbo Baggins."

"I just hope you are right in that too, Gandalf."

"Do not worry, my friend. I shall tell the company to come by your house tomorrow when the dark comes. Expect them to be hungry and tired though. They have been on the road for a long time. Now I must go. Take care Bilbo."

"What? You mean you won't stay for lunch?" The bourgeois exclaimed with utmost surprise, feeling a bit disappointed for not being able to extend his Baggins courtesy to his mother's friend. "I am sure your voyage has been not less extenuating, I could offer you a room too if you were in need of it."

"Nonsense, Bilbo. You'd better prepare the rooms for your future visitors and worry about their nourishment instead of mine, as I cannot remain here for any longer today. Many things are waiting to be solved before tomorrow's evening comes. Have a good rest of the day, Bilbo!"

The middle-aged bourgeois did not have time to argue with Gandalf before the man in question had stormed out of Bag End and closed the door, leaving poor Bilbo standing bemused in the middle of the hall, a bit at loss of what to do and starting to regret his "emotional stupidity" for getting the best out of him by making rushed choice that the man knew he'd start to regret in no time at all.

Too confused with his own thoughts, Belladonna's and Bungo's son did not become aware of the lilies blossoming fully in the hallway, shining with a bright and promising white color.


End file.
